


everything you feel is good if you would only let you

by skvadern



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Ace Spectrum, Bondage, Dom/sub, F/M, Oral Sex, Tender Sex, Trans Female Character, Trust, muffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:41:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25098574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skvadern/pseuds/skvadern
Summary: It’s a uniquely beautiful sight, watching such a sharp person come a little to pieces under his hands, and Oscar savours it as he pushes Sasha’s other leg into the mattress.Sasha wants to try something different, and Wilde never could resist entanglement.
Relationships: Sasha Racket/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 17
Kudos: 61





	everything you feel is good if you would only let you

**Author's Note:**

> this happens after damascus probably but at a random unspecified point that could never exist in canon cause my city now.  
> for the purposes of this whole deal ive decided that in this world Reprogram Endocrine System is a spell, hence sasha's essentially on e, but she hasnt had bottom surgery. the words sex, shaft, sac and bollocks (wilde n i r both british dont @ me) are used for sasha's kit. author is a trans guy who takes concrit.  
> title from i will by mitski

In all honesty, Oscar should have expected this. He might be fairly practised with rope, but Sasha is literally a born thief; she was probably escaping handcuffs before she could walk. Combine that with the frankly worrying volume of trust issues, and Oscar isn’t sure why he’s surprised by what he sees when he turns round.

Sasha is sitting up in the bed, cross-legged and slouched into the loose shirt she’s stolen from him, rubbing idly at her wrist with one hand. The other is busy toying with the tail-end of the rope that had, until Oscar turned his back, been binding her to the bed’s headboard.

The look she’s giving him from under her eyelashes is complicated, like most things with Sasha Racket. Equal parts braced for him to snap, and daring him to comment at all, and Oscar’s never been able to resist a dare.

“You know that’s not the point of this,” he states – careful to keep the censure out of his voice, but he can’t quite hide the wellspring of what he’s been forced to admit is decidedly _affectionate_ exasperation.

Sasha shoots him a flat look – _I don’t know what to tell you. You put me in a restraint, you turn your back, I get out of the restraint. That is the way the world works_ – that can’t quite disguise the tension strung through her arms and bunching in her thighs. Oscar had hoped that since Sasha consented to being immobilised by him, they were through with this constant testing of his motives, his kindness, the wait for him to snap and turn on her; but he supposes that’s unfair of him. This as-yet-unnamed agreement with Sasha hasn’t been going on long, and she’s learned the perils of trusting the wrong person over her entire life.

Sasha tenses further as Oscar approaches the bed and climbs onto it, enough that for a moment he finds himself worrying. But the look she gives him, chin up and eyes flashing, doesn’t seem hostile or afraid, just testing.

“Alright,” Oscar says, “let’s try a hypothetical.” He lets his voice slip into that particular register he uses for games like this. It’s only a little more commanding than his normal _Managing People_ voice, but clever Sasha hears the change. He can actually see her pupils dilate a little, from up this close. “We both know that you can get out of these ropes, however I tie them. I could make you work for it, force you to dislocate something – but that’s not going to slow you down, is it?”

Sasha’s gaze flicks down to her hand, whole since her time in Cairo, and Oscar knows they’re both thinking about all the things Sasha Racket will do to get out of a trap if she really has to.

Oscar reaches out – ever so slowly, telegraphing his movements far more clearly than Sasha needs him to, so much so that he’s practically making a point of it – and grazes his fingers over the back of her hand, following the strong lines of bone and tendon until he’s tracing the deceptively delicate architecture of her wrist. He can feel Sasha’s eyes boring into his skin, but she stays perfectly still, even as Oscar’s other hand comes up and he gently circles his fingers around her wrists.

His dear rogue is skinny everywhere that she’s not wiry with hard muscle, but her wrists are, by some quirk of nature, almost obscenely slim. To see such strong, capable hands caged so neatly, dwarfed by his own, sparks a fierce, delighted hunger in Oscar’s gut; the sort of hunger he’s always a little wary of, in others and in himself.

Which is absurd. Sasha could break his hold on her in at least five different ways – she wouldn’t even have to, since he’s poised to pull back the moment she so much as twitches. Oscar is in control, of the situation and of himself, and he won’t be hurting anyone.

“But,” he says, shifting his gaze to Sasha’s face, to where her wide eyes catch his and hold, “imagine if you didn’t. You don’t have to, after all; you’re safe here, aren’t you?” He raises an eyebrow slightly, waiting patiently until Sasha’s eyes flutter closed and she nods, just once.

“Exactly,” he says, “you’re safe. Nobody you need to fight, nowhere you need to escape from. So imagine if you just… stayed. Here, where you’re safe and held, and you just let me love you?”

From this close, Oscar can see the words sink through Sasha’s scarred skin and into her heart. She actually flinches slightly under them, before dragging in a deep breath. As he watches, she relaxes every muscle group, one by one, until she’s loose as a cat under him.

When he lets go of one wrist and lifts the other up to the headboard, Sasha lets him, scooting down the bed and keeping her arm in place while he collects the rope and reties it. He’s using a single column tie – no fancy Japanese-style ropework tonight, that’s not what this is about – and in no time at all Sasha’s wrists are refastened to the headboard, her arms pulled out to either side and her head and neck resting comfortably on a pile of pillows.

Once he sits back, Sasha gives the ropes a little pull, before yanking hard enough for Oscar to flinch. He knows better than to chastise, but he must look concerned enough about the state of her wrists that Sasha relaxes after that, letting her arms rest against the pillows.

“Good ties,” she mutters, a little sheepish.

Oscar settles over her, delighting in her shiver as his weight comes down slightly on her chest. The hollow of her neck catches just a little shadow, and he has to kiss it, a gentle brush of lips as he lets Sasha get used to being restrained.

It doesn’t take too long before Sasha gets impatient, unrestrained legs pushing at him. “Get on with it,” she mutters, a charming flush beginning to spread across her cheekbones, and much as he hates to leave the skin under his lips, Oscar is all to happy to oblige. They’ve agreed that the shirt will stay on – Sasha’s relationship with full nudity is as contentious as the bitterest divorce – but Oscar has her permission to peel down her soft black leggings, and does so gladly.

Sasha’s bare legs are _beautiful_ , all white skin and downy black hair, lean and sculpted muscle tucked against delicate bone. Oscar is reaching out to touch before he can help himself. Her skin is slightly dry, and beneath it he can feel the strung-steel of tensed muscle. He gets a sour look for ruffling her fine leg hair the wrong way, but Sasha allows it – even presses into his touch, a little.

His thumb must catch on a ticklish spot, because suddenly Sasha shudders and lashes her leg out, hard and fast as you’d expect from a rogue. Before he’s even processed what’s happening, Oscar is moving, grabbing Sasha’s leg and leaning all his weight on it, immobilising it. The _noise_ that slips out of Sasha’s throat –

The moment he realises what he’s doing, Oscar lets Sasha’s leg go and all but jerks back. For a second, they stare at each other, Sasha’s eyes wide as dinner plates and his probably not much better.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Oscar manages, through a suddenly death-dry throat. “I- My apologies, Sasha, I acted on instinct, I didn’t mean-“

Sasha blinks at him, chewing her lip – he’s impossibly relieved not to see fear in her face. Instead, there’s the sort of quiet contemplation that, where he in his role as her handler, would make him deeply nervous.

“Sasha?” he asks, as tentative as he ever gets. “Are you alright?”

“M’ fine,” Sasha mutters, “honest.” She squints at him for a moment, then all-but-whispers, “Can you- can you put your hand back?”

For a moment, Oscar blinks at her. Then, pulse kicking up in the hollow of his throat, he reaches out and rests his hand back on Sasha’s calf. Taking a deep, steady breath, he presses slowly down.

As soon as the pressure he’s exerting tips into restraining, Sasha gasps a little, eyes fluttering. Then she relaxes all at once, practically collapsing onto the bed.

“Oh,” she sighs, soft and wondering. “That’s… that’s good.”

From this close, Oscar fancies he can actually see Sasha’s eyes begin to haze over, the blade of her high-strung, paranoid intelligence dulling. It’s a uniquely beautiful sight, watching such a sharp person come a little to pieces under his hands, and Oscar savours it as he pushes Sasha’s other leg into the mattress, pinning her properly. The breathy little sigh that elicits gets tucked away deep in his chest, like a precious gem.

For a moment, he holds her there – close enough that she can surely feel his body heat, but not crowding into her space again. Just watching Sasha enjoy herself, watching her sink a little deeper. Her breathing has slipped slower and more even than he thinks he’s ever seen it, outside of a job, and for the first time he’s ever been witness too, she looks relaxed. Not focussed, not just calm – _relaxed_.

“Good,” he murmurs before he can catch himself, his thumb caressing the soft skin between her thighs. Sasha shudders, and for a moment he’s sure that he’s misstepped – but then she gives him a look, face wide open and honest and _pleased_ , that melts what’s left of Oscar’s heart. He leans up to kiss her, and this time Sasha turns her face into it and lets him catch her lips. She arches her back a little, pressing against him and sighing into his mouth when he catches her lip between his teeth.

Eventually, Sasha starts squirming, her legs wrapping around one of his thighs and her hips grinding gently against the firm muscle. Oscar shifts his weight to facilitate, smiling into Sasha’s mouth as she moans quietly, tugging gently at the ropes as if to remind herself that they’re still there.

“Do you want more?” he asks eventually, smiling helplessly as Sasha takes a few moments to process his words. When she finally manages, she nods, and Oscar shifts back, disentangling them so he can kneel up and reach for Sasha’s underwear. His fingers brush against her hips, and he stills when Sasha tenses. 

“Something the matter?” he queries, and Sasha sighs.

“You know I’m not gonna get hard, right?” she mutters, eyes fixed on a corner of the room. “Even if we’re being fancy with it.”

“I figured,” Oscar replies. “I didn’t mind it last time, and I won’t mind this time.” Sasha gives him another cautious look, but she lifts her hips and allows him to guide her underwear off.

It’s always so wonderful, the moment he bares a partner like this, exposes skin and organs so sensitive and hidden. Sasha’s sex lies against her thigh, pale and graceful as the rest of her, and Oscar’s mouth waters a little at the sight. The glans is smooth and petal-soft, tucked away beneath the foreskin, and when he coaxes that thin covering back, he can see a little bead of clear fluid at the tip. He can’t resist licking it off, and Sasha whimpers above him, wrists jerking.

“Settle, beautiful,” he tells her, and smiles at her pissy little whine.

Despite her protests, Sasha does indeed settle, letting her arms go limp against the covers and parting her legs a little wider. As a reward, Oscar takes the tip of her sex fully into his mouth, licking his other hand for slickness and using it to roll her foreskin back further. As ever, he revels in the faint taste of salt and skin, the slightly-pliable softness under his tongue; the vulnerability of the moment, holding someone’s beating pulse in his mouth.

A flick of his tongue against the bottom of the head, that sensitive little crevice where the flesh parts like a delta, has Sasha swearing softly, and Oscar notes distantly that she hadn’t done that before. The only other time Sasha had been in the mood for sex, she’d been appreciative – of course, he is _very_ good – but almost silent. Perhaps it’s the ropes. Certainly, Sasha’s less inhibited than he’s ever seen her, and he knows bondage can have that effect on people – has that affect on him, on the occasions he’s up for it.

While he busies his mouth, Oscar dips his hand between Sasha’s legs, slipping behind her sac and running an exploratory finger across the silky skin behind it. An experimental press nets him a little gasp, Sasha’s hips twitching up and away before rolling back down. Oscar wants to tease, call her _skittish_ and _darling_ and _shy_ , but he’s fairly sure his usual style would go down badly with Sasha, especially when she’s so shockingly vulnerable. She’d take it as mockery, that sharp pride would prickle, and that’s not what he wants at all. What he wants, right now, is for Sasha to be melting, soft as the skin between her thighs.

He goes down on Sasha, massaging her perineum rhythmically in time with the movement of his tongue, until he feels drunk on the taste of her sex and the high, trembling moans spilling from her lips. Time slips away from him, and all there is to the world is this, the sweet pulse of power and trust and the knowledge that he is making somebody feel _amazing_.

“Y-yellow, Wilde!” Sasha gasps suddenly, and Oscar eases off immediately, worry pushing through the sweet fog of arousal.

“Everything alright?” he asks, relieved when Sasha nods quickly.

“Yeah,” she pants, “just… it was a lot, all at once, you know? I want it to last a bit longer.”

“We can do this again, you know,” he says, “as many times as you want. I’m not going anywhere.”

For once, Sasha is too distracted to direct any scepticism at him. Instead, she lets him rest his head on her thigh as she catches her breath, coming down from whatever high he’d just taken her to as he plots his next move.

He waits for Sasha to relax again before speaking, catching her chin so that her pleasure-drunk eyes will settle on him. “I want to try something. It’ll probably be new for you, but I think you’ll like it.”

“What if I don’t like it?” Sasha murmurs hazily, nuzzling into his hand.

Oscar shrugs. “Then I stop. It’s just an idea, Sasha, there’s plenty more I could do to you.”

Sasha squints at him, then gives a little nod and burrows deeper into his hand. “Bet you know what you’re doing. Yeah. We can try whatever it is.”

Oscar winks at her before sliding back down the bed, positioning himself between Sasha’s thighs again. This time, instead of bypassing her bollocks, he cups them gently, rolling them between his fingers and delighting in Sasha’s little squirm. He can see her confusion as he lifts one, easing it up and to the side until it rests against her groin – he had wondered if Sasha ever tucked, but apparently not. Luckily for them both, Oscar’s had enough practice with this particular sex act to be confident in his technique.

Sure enough, it only takes a slight angled push for him to slip one of her bollocks a little way into her body, and follow it with the tip of his finger. Sasha’s head falls back on the pillows as soon as he penetrates her, teeth sinking into her lip and eyes fluttering.

She’s so shockingly warm inside that it steals his breath, warm and tight and achingly soft. Carefully, so carefully, Oscar pushes his finger a little further in, easing it deeper, eyes on Sasha’s face as it contorts in shock and pleasure. When he slips his finger out, the soft little sphere follows, and then he eases it back in again and Sasha _whines_ , so high and so sweet.

“That’s…” she breaks off to gasp when Oscar’s finger slips out again, and slides back in. “How the hell does that feel so good?”

“Do you want the biology lesson?” he asks archly, and she glares at him for a moment, before he moves her other bollock into position and pushes forward, and Sasha’s eyes roll right back in her head.

He fucks her gently with his fingers and her own body, setting up a alternating rhythm that allows one finger to push forward as the other moves back – a little cruel of him, but entirely worth it as Sasha’s expression takes on a punched-out blankness, her pupils blown huge against her dark irises. It doesn’t take long before she’s moaning again, lips parted and shining.

When her hips start to arch a little, Oscar has to ease one finger free from her body to rest it heavy on her hip. “Still,” he murmurs, “careful now. Wouldn’t do to bollocks this up.”

For a moment Sasha just stares at him, adorably fuzzy. Then she giggles, dazed and brilliant, and lets him pin her back to the bed. “Nah,” she sighs, “wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Oscar presses a kiss to the strip of muscled stomach visible above the hem of her shirt, then slides his finger back into her to the sound of her ecstatic moan, as sweet as her laughter.

The muscles of her thighs tense in waves as Sasha keeps herself down, stopping herself from arching off the bed – beautiful rogue, so good, so _good_ for him, and he makes sure to croon words of that effect as he slowly, carefully drives her higher and higher. There’s sweat beading on her stomach now where white fabric has ridden up, a deep red flush suffusing her heaving chest where it’s visible above her shirt, his shirt. Oscar can’t help but press kisses to her thighs, nipping at the scant softness there, kissing his way to her shaft and drawing it into his mouth until his nose is pressed against her belly and the whole of her fills his mouth, warm and heavy and soft on his tongue.

Sasha all but _screams_ , tensing all over and pulling at the ropes, and Oscar keeps his eyes fixed on her, bright teary eyes and wide-open mouth gasping for air. Watching her so lost in pleasure sends a stabbing, heated ache through him, his cock throbbing in his trousers, and the bitter taste spilling onto the back of his tongue only inflames him further.

It takes a surprisingly long time for the convulsions to stop, and when they do, Sasha goes limp all at once, sagging back into the pillows. Oscar removes his fingers and mouth slowly, relieved to see no ripples of discomfort, and pulls up the sheet to cover Sasha’s bare legs.

When he unties her, Sasha sags into the bed, almost liquidly pliant. She smiles up at him as he leans over her, hazy-eyed and so peaceful she’s practically glowing with it. Oscar can’t resist bending to kiss her cheek, once then again, especially not when she turns her head to mash her lips against his chin with a noise that reminds him strongly of a particularly contented cat.

It takes some coaxing before Sasha will sit up enough to drink water, and when he manages to haul her upright, she flops dramatically back onto him. Huffing out a laugh, Oscar takes her slight weight until she’s drunk her fill and slides out of his hold to curl into the sheets.

“Anything need seeing to?” Oscar asks, though he’s fairly sure Sasha would have mentioned. Surely enough, she shakes her head, burrowing deeper and letting out a satisfied little sigh.

“’M good,” she murmurs, “gonna nap now.”

“You do that,” Oscar says, finishing his own cup of water and making for the en-suite. Sasha’s not the cuddling type, as aftercare goes, and a nice hot shower will do him just fine. That, and his neglected cock deserves some attention.

He’s sure that Sasha’s face, flushed and ecstatic, will remain in his memory for quite some time.

~~~~~

The room is pleasantly warm, the bed warmer, and Oscar resurfaces from his nap comfortably sleepy. Gods, but it’s nice to sleep properly again, even with the cost to his power. You don’t know what you have until it’s gone, as the philosophers say, and Oscar is sure he’ll treasure a good night’s rest for the remainder of his life.

Opening his eyes a slit, he rolls his head towards the dip in the mattress next to him. Sasha is sitting up, the neckline of his shirt gaping open rather attractively, revealing the normally-hidden curve of her breasts. In the moonlight spilling in from the unshuttered window, the pallor that marks her as strange in daylight seems native, entirely fitting. She is as monochrome as the night, and just as lovely.

At some point, she’s acquired a dagger, and is doing absent-minded knife tricks. While Oscar does find himself suddenly a little more conscious of his naked skin, he doesn’t tense – Sasha’s daggers are practically an extension of her flesh. If he loses any bits, it’ll be because she wants him to.

“’S weird, right?” she says, not looking over at him as she speaks. “I spend my whole life trying not to get captured and tied up by people, then you do it and…” she trails off, her eyes straying to the dagger dancing through her fingers. Oscar waits her out.

Finally, she mutters, “It doesn’t feel like that, when it’s not a game. It doesn’t feel… good, or free. There’s no peace – it’s just frightening.”

Oscar nods. “Of course it feels different, in the same way that a game of tag with your friends feels fundamentally different from being chased by people who are trying to kill you.” He turns on his side to face her, studying her moonlit profile. “Being tied up by an enemy is unsafe – you’re trapped, you can’t get away, and there’s a strong chance they’re going to hurt you. Being tied up by me, on the other hand,” he gestures to himself, “ _is_ safe. You could have gotten away at any time, by your own skill or by my releasing you, and what was being done to you while you were restrained was decidedly not painful.”

Sasha snorts at his tone – a little smug, perhaps – and finally glances back at him. Only a quick flicker of her eyes, but he feels it like a lover’s caress. “Well, when you put it like that, it’s obvious. I just think it’s weird, is all.”

“It is weird,” Oscar replies. “Sexuality has a tendency to be.” Sasha nods at that. They’ve talked before about their desires – Oscar’s many and various and useful, Sasha’s few and far between and seldom relevant.

Sasha is quiet for another few minutes, sending her knife spinning through her hands in flashing loops and letting him look his fill. Then she stills the wheeling silver and flops back in the bed, curling gracefully to face him and tucking a hand under her cheek. The other hand reaches out, and Oscar lets his eyes fall closed as he feels it brush his cheek, skipping lightly over the bones and soft flesh.

“Thank you,” she whispers in the darkness, and Oscar smiles, smiles wider when he feels thin fingers trace his curving lips.

“Thank _you_ ,” he replies, and Sasha’s hand slides to cup his jaw.


End file.
